The region in which I currently reside is an economic powerhouse. While it's a reasonably nice place to call home, I'd commend you if you're shrewd enough to find a decent little house for under a quarter of a million bucks. Rather rent? I've got a walk-in closet a few of my friends have expressed interest in... it's next to the high-efficiency furnace and has a bit of black mold, but I'll give it to your for $200 / week!
By all accounts, a single person, wanting to call this paradise home, shall require a minimum net income of around $1800 / month to expect to get by. It's arguable. Depends on one's standards, but whatever. With so many unskilled, unfilled positions to be had in the area - many jobs reluctantly and begrudgingly offer starting wages as high as $18 / hour - to any hood off the street willing to put their back into it.
$1300 for a decent basement suite doesn't seem altogether unreasonable in this neck, but you better ensure you can maintain a gross earning of at least $2100 / month... partying after work can be a real hit to the pocketbook too, and you'd be surprised what you can get up to in a small city full of party-people.. $200 is gone in a few drunken blinks of your eyelids! Good thing a great many hard working folk easily earn twice that amount if they have the wherewithal to put-in some overtime sweat to get 'er done.
Why not put-in some overtime? You're evening's already shot because you're nearly exhausted from busting your ass all day anyway- if all you gotta do is sweep-up some bits and pieces or finish-up some minor odds and ends of a proper installation - getting the milestone items checked-off on the blueprint on schedule is often money in the bank for the big-bucks-capital-boss. Leaving loose-ends for a brand-new crew to tie-up on a Monday morning can't be the best practice. A stitch in time saves nine. Some poor initiate, first day on-the-job and negligent in regard to some Jerry-rigged maneuver made half-way through the assembly of some God-damned pocket-sprocket assembly the night before, and boom!
The whole springy-mess of a project has an explosive party in three dimensions... a thousand-and-six pieces on the workbench table. I'm thinking of someone with a job on the scale of watchmakers or small engine mechanics. In larger-scale industrial work-settings, most aspects and elements present pose a far greater hazard to your health than would the mere threat of some tiny watch-spring gizmo snapping you in the bridge of the nose. Heavy oil = heavy * machinery = heavy * potential energy = heavy * magnitude of disaster?
No matter how big a man or woman you might be, the dimensional differences in human mass become almost negligible in the shadow of massive mining equipment. In Canada, safety concerns tend to be integrated into engineering designs, rather than acted-upon as an afterthought. At least, most Canadians I know are on the cautious side, and sincerely do (when it comes to initiating large-scale, potentially dangerous projects) tend to give things a thorough thinking-through before calling upon the warp-speed engines.
Once having worked a job as a vac-truck driver, I was privy to access the drilling platform to have a peek at what goes on... with the big-boss-drill-boss's permission, of course. Talk about nearly intolerable! You've gotta be pretty rough to subject yourself to such a noisy and noxious environment. I'm sure I'd live through it, but these guys who manage to endure have gotta have some thickly skin - to endure more than one season... I'd swear to never go back! Plus, the operation where I was hired to dump sludge was just a small, exploratory drilling operation.
Still, I can see how the heavier deep-drilling operation would be far safer overall. The giants only come in after the leg-work has proven satisfactory enough for them to roll out of bed, I think. With less operating headroom, and more to lose, I imagine exploratory drilling operations to be a bit more renegade and risky when compared alongside the big-boy conglomerates who contract them out to find the gas.
Being the driver of a big truck can be a fairly laid-back gig - provided you have a good 'swamper.'
Big trucks usually imply big jobs. If I were the proud owner of a big truck, I would be wise to offer top wages for a real-keener- a top-notch footman with extra moxie. I'd let him do all the unloading while I sit in my plush king cab environs, smoking top-drawer cigars as I update my blog on my gold-plated notebook computer. If only good help weren't so hard to find! In all seriousness, my point is that you need to accept any risks associated with owning capital for the sake of enterprise. What I'm trying to say is that I'd be willing to take a $16 / hour haircut to help create a win-win situation. My boy is happy running around for $20 / hour, it's a substantial wage for a menial worker, but he's really fast, and I know he'd be eye-balling my $2 coin cup if I only paid him $16 / hour.
Professional-company-man driving gigs in the city often suck. Not only are you expected to deal with invariably congested city traffic and all its hideously ridiculous commuters; jot-out your route; navigate around unnecessary construction shim-shams; answer the mobile phone while doing all this, and... get there on-time... it's also expected: you're to always be cordial in your negotiations with clientele... even when some complete stranger is screaming in your ear because his lonely wife left him. Then the real work begins. Maybe you deliver furniture? Let's hope the temp worker didn't call in "sick" again! Small wonder there's so many "good job opportunities" in the transportation sector!
I would do it again... but only part-time. Some of these companies won't stop at subjugating your very soul if you're someone who can't say no to extra hours. These managers are practiced in the arts of diplomacy. Once they know you can deliver, bosses will exact every pound of your very flesh they can get away with- just to further their own numerical interests. You're now the footman. I like to play the footman sometimes, but not all the time. I'm dynamic in that way. Some might call it a personality disorder, but I call it bliss!
By all accounts, a single person, wanting to call this paradise home, shall require a minimum net income of around $1800 / month to expect to get by. It's arguable. Depends on one's standards, but whatever. With so many unskilled, unfilled positions to be had in the area - many jobs reluctantly and begrudgingly offer starting wages as high as $18 / hour - to any hood off the street willing to put their back into it.
$1300 for a decent basement suite doesn't seem altogether unreasonable in this neck, but you better ensure you can maintain a gross earning of at least $2100 / month... partying after work can be a real hit to the pocketbook too, and you'd be surprised what you can get up to in a small city full of party-people.. $200 is gone in a few drunken blinks of your eyelids! Good thing a great many hard working folk easily earn twice that amount if they have the wherewithal to put-in some overtime sweat to get 'er done.
Why not put-in some overtime? You're evening's already shot because you're nearly exhausted from busting your ass all day anyway- if all you gotta do is sweep-up some bits and pieces or finish-up some minor odds and ends of a proper installation - getting the milestone items checked-off on the blueprint on schedule is often money in the bank for the big-bucks-capital-boss. Leaving loose-ends for a brand-new crew to tie-up on a Monday morning can't be the best practice. A stitch in time saves nine. Some poor initiate, first day on-the-job and negligent in regard to some Jerry-rigged maneuver made half-way through the assembly of some God-damned pocket-sprocket assembly the night before, and boom!
The whole springy-mess of a project has an explosive party in three dimensions... a thousand-and-six pieces on the workbench table. I'm thinking of someone with a job on the scale of watchmakers or small engine mechanics. In larger-scale industrial work-settings, most aspects and elements present pose a far greater hazard to your health than would the mere threat of some tiny watch-spring gizmo snapping you in the bridge of the nose. Heavy oil = heavy * machinery = heavy * potential energy = heavy * magnitude of disaster?
No matter how big a man or woman you might be, the dimensional differences in human mass become almost negligible in the shadow of massive mining equipment. In Canada, safety concerns tend to be integrated into engineering designs, rather than acted-upon as an afterthought. At least, most Canadians I know are on the cautious side, and sincerely do (when it comes to initiating large-scale, potentially dangerous projects) tend to give things a thorough thinking-through before calling upon the warp-speed engines.
Once having worked a job as a vac-truck driver, I was privy to access the drilling platform to have a peek at what goes on... with the big-boss-drill-boss's permission, of course. Talk about nearly intolerable! You've gotta be pretty rough to subject yourself to such a noisy and noxious environment. I'm sure I'd live through it, but these guys who manage to endure have gotta have some thickly skin - to endure more than one season... I'd swear to never go back! Plus, the operation where I was hired to dump sludge was just a small, exploratory drilling operation.
Still, I can see how the heavier deep-drilling operation would be far safer overall. The giants only come in after the leg-work has proven satisfactory enough for them to roll out of bed, I think. With less operating headroom, and more to lose, I imagine exploratory drilling operations to be a bit more renegade and risky when compared alongside the big-boy conglomerates who contract them out to find the gas.
Being the driver of a big truck can be a fairly laid-back gig - provided you have a good 'swamper.'
Big trucks usually imply big jobs. If I were the proud owner of a big truck, I would be wise to offer top wages for a real-keener- a top-notch footman with extra moxie. I'd let him do all the unloading while I sit in my plush king cab environs, smoking top-drawer cigars as I update my blog on my gold-plated notebook computer. If only good help weren't so hard to find! In all seriousness, my point is that you need to accept any risks associated with owning capital for the sake of enterprise. What I'm trying to say is that I'd be willing to take a $16 / hour haircut to help create a win-win situation. My boy is happy running around for $20 / hour, it's a substantial wage for a menial worker, but he's really fast, and I know he'd be eye-balling my $2 coin cup if I only paid him $16 / hour.
Professional-company-man driving gigs in the city often suck. Not only are you expected to deal with invariably congested city traffic and all its hideously ridiculous commuters; jot-out your route; navigate around unnecessary construction shim-shams; answer the mobile phone while doing all this, and... get there on-time... it's also expected: you're to always be cordial in your negotiations with clientele... even when some complete stranger is screaming in your ear because his lonely wife left him. Then the real work begins. Maybe you deliver furniture? Let's hope the temp worker didn't call in "sick" again! Small wonder there's so many "good job opportunities" in the transportation sector!
I would do it again... but only part-time. Some of these companies won't stop at subjugating your very soul if you're someone who can't say no to extra hours. These managers are practiced in the arts of diplomacy. Once they know you can deliver, bosses will exact every pound of your very flesh they can get away with- just to further their own numerical interests. You're now the footman. I like to play the footman sometimes, but not all the time. I'm dynamic in that way. Some might call it a personality disorder, but I call it bliss!
